Lost
by DarkAngelSnapeLover
Summary: When McGhee sends hundreds of emails to Director Vance before fleeing to Europe, the director knows his agent has lost his mental capacity. Director Vance and his team have to discover what the emails mean and where McGhee is in order to save him. Full summary inside One-shot.


**Lost**

_Summary:_ When McGhee sends off almost 500 crazed emails to Director Vance before flying to Europe, his coworkers have no idea what to make of his sudden loss of sanity. What could cause such an esteemed agent to fall prey to mental disorder? Will they be able to figure out what the pieces mean before McGhee harms himself or someone else? This is a mystery that must be solved. Possibly OOC McGhee. Rated K+.

The mystery began to unfold in a series of crazed emails sent to the director. McGhee was losing his sanity for some reason, something he himself didn't quite understand, since writing had always helped him keep control of his marbles. For some reason, that wasn't working lately, and after sending over five hundred emails to Director Vance in one night, he flew off to Europe to hide among the tourists, his true identity masked by stage makeup and prosthetics, the remnants of which were found in his apartment when the search began.

People outside of his team held mixed reactions. Most already found him to be a little strange and awkward, his geeky ways rubbing on his coworkers the wrong way. Others thought he was a genius and wondered why he'd be so irrational all of the sudden. And then there were the last remaining few who had no idea one of their own was missing, and since they had other things to take care of, they never would notice the international manhunt or the extensive detective work to help work through his emails.

But McGhee's team knew he was missing, and that was the important part. Gibbs was the most concerned of all. Why didn't McGhee email him five hundred times in one night? So he didn't like to check his email and read on bright computers and so on, but he had a right to know, and he vowed to tell McGhee this whenever they found him. Tony was just as offended. He had no idea his buddy was struggling, and he really couldn't see the signs. Even after he and Ziva searched McGhee's apartment and read his emails and went through his hard drive, and so on, Tony was lost and offended, his mind reeling from the loss of his friend, or the assumed lost; he wasn't sure which.

Ziva and Abby were quiet, their keen eyes studying every word. McGhee was nearly incoherent after Email 150 or so, though the first 149 emails didn't make much sense either. Their motherly instincts were kicking in, and they were quite worried about what would come of this, the whole event: what happened before, what was happening during, and what would happen after if he returned. They were worried about McGhee like they would be worried about a lost child, and Abby had to stop herself from locking her office door and crying for hours. Ziva was more composed, but her nervous ticks were coming out. She couldn't stop clicking her pen loudly, but the only people to give her dirty looks were those uninformed agents too busy to notice their email, to notice why she was so upset.

This would last for two weeks while allies searched for McGhee. When they finally found him, he was in Paris sipping tea at an outside café. He went with the agents willingly, and he removed his makeup and prosthetics without a fuss. He then boarded a plane, still silent, and flew back to Washington DC to be held at a mental institution for three days while they evaluated his psychological state. During that time, he would be alone aside from the hospital staff, but as soon as the 72-hour hold was lifted, Gibbs and Tony demanded private meetings with him, though only Director Vance was granted permission to visit him. He entered a private room and sat calmly until McGhee was led inside, his white smock blending perfectly with the white walls.

"Timothy, I feel we have a great deal to discuss here," Director Vance said, wrapping his fingers together and resting his clasped hands on the table, trying to make himself as humble and friendly as possible. "Do you want to guess what I want to discuss with you?"

"I was already told about the emails, Director. It won't happen again," Timothy nodded diligently. Director Vance nodded, leaning back in his seat. "But you're not going to let them go? Why not?"

"I want to know what they mean, as do the doctors and nurses here and your team back at NCIS. Everyone wants to know what those emails meant, why there were so many of them, and why after so many emails, your message was lost in a spree of incoherent characters. I need answers before I can allow you to return."

"That won't be necessary," Timothy smiled. "I don't want to go back, and in fact, I don't think I really can. That's what started this," he nodded, his eyes staring down to the table's surface. "I don't want to talk about what those emails meant, and I don't think it's necessary. I apologize for scaring everyone by flying off to Europe, but I wanted to get away. I already have arrangements made to live with a friend in Maine. I don't want to go until you're satisfied, of course, but I won't tell you what I meant. It doesn't matter and it never will. Just let me leave in peace if that's all you're worried about."

"You have to understand the type of world we live in, Timothy. I doubt this, but my superiors don't," Vance stammered, clearing his throat nervously. "We have to take the necessary precautions, in case you're...in case you are a part of a terrorist organization. I know that sounds ridiculous, but we can't take any chances, not in this day and age. We have to know the meaning to rule that possibility out."

"I'm not a part of a terrorist organization, nor will I ever be. I can take polygraph tests or do whatever else you want if this is your theory, but since those emails aren't pointing towards that, I won't tell you what they mean," Timothy said sternly, scratching his hair gently. "Do you mind getting to the point of this, Director? I rather like playing board games with the others here. I haven't done much of that over the years."

Director Vance said his goodbyes, deciding the two were at an impasse. He hoped his team had something to offer, but the most Abby had been able to discover was that the emails started falling into some sort of code when they stopped making sense, but she didn't know what existing code it was or if it was a new one altogether, a conundrum she'd have to find the answer to using outside sources.

Director Vance decided it was best to keep this in-house. Until the emails were deciphered, McGhee would remain in protective custody inside the institution, and his team would devote all of their extra time to helping their friend. It would be time consuming, tedious, ridiculous, but they'd have to do it. Agents like Timothy McGhee didn't just lose their marbles all of the sudden. There had to be some strange reasoning behind it. He might've lost it after a particularly traumatic case or after getting an unjust parking ticket or some other stressor, but he didn't just go nuts for no reason.

A month passed. Vance had weekly meetings with McGhee, which were always cut short by board games in the activities room. After the fifth time this happened, Director Vance asked to join him. He wasn't getting anywhere with the emails, and though McGhee didn't ask to leave the facility, you could tell he looked like a cooped up dog. But if the board games brought him joy, Vance wanted to see that. He followed McGhee down a well-lit hallway into a bright, yellow room filled with small tables, board games, and various craft supplies.

At a table with a Scrabble board and tiles sat a dark-haired young woman. She was wearing the same pastel-colored smocks as everyone else, but Vance could tell that outside of the facility, she'd wear the same strange clothes as Abby, probably stranger because of her young age. Vance looked on, watching the two interact. He felt a connection to her, and she to him. The two smiled, laughing occasionally, and when the game was completed, the score book was crossed out and handed back to the orderly.

"I leave in two days, Tim," she whispered. "I wish I could keep in touch with you. Maybe you'll get to go home soon yourself," she nodded, brushing past Director Vance to join an orderly in the hall, who led her away. As Timothy watched her depart, Vance watched Timothy. When she was long gone, their eyes met. Timothy was solemn, his smile gone. He wanted to keep in contact with her, but he didn't know how to do that, at least until Vance gently reminded him.

"I'll tell you what happened, but...I want to sign a contract first. Give me some paper or something and I'll write it out for you. But I won't say anything before then," Timothy demanded, following Vance and an orderly back to the room they were in a few minutes before. The doctor joined them with the pen and paper, and he remained as Timothy scratched out four pages' worth of a contract. He then passed it to Director Vance and asked him to look over it. When he was finished, he looked up to McGhee.

"You want me to promise that only you'll lose your job because no one else did anything wrong?" Director Vance asked. McGhee nodded. "I can't sign this until I've heard what you have to say. If someone in my organization is dangerous-"

"It's not about dangers or any kind of terrorism or violence or anything like that," he said frantically. "It's about conduct. You can't fire us over the conduct I'm about to discuss. Well you can fire me, but no one else."

"If it's just conduct, then I'm willing to sign, but don't expect me to hold this in too high of regards if the matters you discuss are too explicit. If actions need to be taken, I will have to take them. That's a part of my responsibilities as director of NCIS, and I hope you understand that."

"I'm willing to agree with that," he nodded, watching Director Vance sign the contract. When the pen lifted from the page and the signature appeared intact, McGhee began his tale. "It started years ago, I think, not too far back but far back enough. Abby and I knew we had a connection, but after she asked me about a date or something, I decided against it, for professional reasons of course. She said she understood, but I didn't understand. Why did every place of work have clauses against dating coworkers? I've reviewed our conduct contracts multiple times over the years, and the clause appears in each one, sometimes a couple of times if there were people caught the year before having relationships with their coworkers. It seemed barbaric to me. People know it's bound to happen with how cooped up we are, yet they won't let it happen.

"I started having dreams, vivid dreams about Abby and me. I wrote her into some short stories, then a novella, and finally a trilogy of novels. She's daring in real life, the perfect fictional character for the page," he smiled. "I felt obligated to use her, especially since I couldn't have her in real life, not with the bylaws and clauses and everything else out there trying to keep us apart. It all sort of grew on its own, I guess, but soon I found myself making excuses to see her or to help her with projects. She does a lot of volunteer work, and now, so do I. It's rewarding on its own, of course, but I would have never had the idea without her motivation.

"I guess lately I feel sort of trapped by the idea of falling in love with her, for real, of having a real life with her," he said sternly. "If a guy like Jimmy can be happy, then so can I, right? I'm a human, a good human, and I deserve that possibility. But I can't have it, and well, you saw what happened. I woke up from a dream about Abby. I called her, but after a few minutes, she had to go so she could sleep. I didn't mind, but something just…. I started writing to you without realizing it, and soon my sent box was so full that I couldn't send anymore, so I cleansed it and started again, and then I just...I lost it, okay? I know why I'm in here," he gestured to the room and his white smock, "and I understand it. I lost it.

"And that's why I think I asked my friend if I could drop in any time. I called him while I was in France, and the offer still stands. So unless I can try to work something out with Abby, I can't go back to NCIS. I'll be made worse, and that's not good for me. If I can't have her, I have to get over her, and helping my bubby fish in Maine is the perfect way to do that," McGhee said, leaning back in his chair and eying the other two men in the room; he was finished.

"Well, Timothy, it's true that there are behavior clauses in government contracts asking people not to have relationships with their coworkers, but those clauses are more for sexually-based offenses. If you want to pursue Abby, I have nothing against it, as long as it doesn't affect your work. If you can contain your emotions in a reasonable way, we can arrange something. I can even have her visit you to start working through your pent-up feelings," Director Vance smiled, chuckling softly. "Forgive me, Tim, but I feel like you've blown this out of proportion. It's almost comical now, but you are an ill man. You are to work with a doctor or multiple doctors to get your affairs in order, and I expect you to keep in touch with me as well. And if things work out for you and Abby, you are to keep your relationship strictly out-of-work. No frolicking in the halls or setting up shop in her office or the elevator or anywhere else on NCIS grounds. You are to enjoy each other in your own time, not while you're supposed to be working."

"If this works out, I can arrange that. And if it doesn't work out, I may still move to Maine, just to recover, though I don't mind the therapy thing. It's almost as helpful as writing used to be for me," Timothy smiled, nodding to the men. He felt relived, as did Director Vance.

Days later, Abby met with McGhee and agreed to date him. She'd always been fond of him, though she never expected to be the reason behind his breakdown. If he was that devoted to her, she didn't mind giving him a chance, as long as he kept his promise to Director Vance and maintained his treatment.

Two months later, McGhee was able to return to work without incident. He was a changed man, but he was also a recovered man. He was dating Abby during their few off evenings, often doing the same things they did together before, but as a couple. Neither realized they were stuck in that strange limbo of the friendzone with each other, but now that they were a couple, those days didn't matter. As long as McGhee was better, nothing mattered, and that was the feeling everyone had about the situation.

Theme 029: Truth and Lies

To complete the themes yourself, I have the list posted on my profile. The list is for any type of fan fiction (one-shot, drabble, etc.) and any fandom. Challenge yourself in other ways to make it more fun, and enjoy!


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